


BARGAIN

by Jantique



Category: Stargate - All Series, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 20:01:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jantique/pseuds/Jantique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney knows what he's been working for all his life: honors, glory, fame. When John is caught in the ray of an Ancient machine, what is Rodney willing to sacrifice for his best friend?</p>
            </blockquote>





	BARGAIN

**Author's Note:**

> I’m a great believer in McShep slash, but this story wrote itself as friendship. You can read it as you like. I’d like to believe that Rodney would have had the same reaction and made the same decision either way.

 

_“To find you, I’m gonna drown an unsung man._

_I call that a bargain, the best I ever had.”_

      “Bargain”, The Who

 

A Marine was stationed outside the door, as per his own orders. Three days ago he had given orders that _no one_ was to enter. Rodney nodded to him and said, “Look, uh, Flanigan, I need to look at the machine. Don’t let anyone else in.”

 

Sgt. Flanigan protested, “But sir—“

 

Rodney overrode him. “I’m just going to take notes.” He held up the tablet he had brought along as protective coloration. “I’ve almost figured out how to reverse the effects on Colonel Sheppard.” It had been two weeks, and he had long ago determined that the machine only worked one way. _Fucking Ancients_! He added the final lie, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to touch anything.

 

“Now I don’t want someone looking over my shoulder, but if it makes you feel better, you can come in in, oh, 20 minutes and make sure I’m all right. Okay?”

 

Flanigan reluctantly nodded, and Rodney stepped inside. He spent one solid minute putting aside regrets and misgivings. It was a big—gigantic—step he was undertaking. But he had no doubt that it was the right one. Then he stepped forward and activated the machine.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 _Two weeks previously_ :

 

Since exploration of Atlantis was a fairly low priority, it became a voluntary activity, a fun thing to do with friends. Points were awarded if you found anything good. (Colonel Sheppard made sure that at least one Marine went with every group.)

 

So it was that a party of three scientists and two Marines on an exploratory mission- _cum_ -picnic came across a room with a Machine in it, large and complicated. They’d had it drummed into their heads not to touch _anything_ , so they immediately radioed Dr. McKay. He immediately called his good friend and favorite light switch, Colonel Sheppard. Partly in case he needed help from John’s stronger gene, but mostly to share the fun of a possible discovery.

 

The room in question was fairly out of the way, a good hike from the nearest transporter, and required a natural-ATA gene carrier to open the door. When Sheppard and McKay arrived, the original discoverers had made themselves at home, spreading out their picnic on the floor. McKay barked, “This is delicate machinery! You bring food and liquids—hey, is that Athosian ale?”

 

“We’re off-duty, Dr. McKay,” one of the Marines volunteered, earning himself a sharp look from his commanding officer.

 

“New rule, Correia”, the Colonel said reprovingly. “Alcohol is hereby limited to inhabited areas ONLY. Is that clear?”

 

“Sir, yes, sir!”

 

“Well, let’s see what this thing does,” McKay said. “No one touch anything, and that means you, Colonel.”

 

John hid a smile and whined, “But Rodney, I haven’t _touched_ anything in months!”

 

Rodney ignored him and studied the machine. There was a large slab, as for someone to lie on, with an arm stretched out above it. There were controls for adjusting settings, if one only knew what those settings were. Rodney carefully laid a hand on a blank section of wall, where he was (relatively) sure he wouldn’t activate it. There was a low vibration under his hand, no more.

 

The gathered group watched in fascination as the great Dr. McKay unlocked the secrets of the machine _they_ had uncovered. Dreams of glory and free desserts danced in their heads.

 

Rodney waved. “Come here, Colonel, touch _right here_.”

 

John couldn’t resist. “But Roddd-ney,” he drawled, “you just told me not to touch!”

 

There were snickers from the picnic group, which ended abruptly as McKay scowled at them and looked like he was taking names. (Actually, he didn’t know their names—but they didn’t need to know that.)

 

Then everything happened at once. John stepped forward, directly into the path of the bottle of ale. Someone’s hand shot out protectively, and Sheppard tripped over an arm, crashing into McKay, pushing him into the machine’s control bank. He instinctively put out his hands, grabbing for balance. At the same time, Sheppard careened off McKay and flopped onto the slab. A light activated from the overhead arm and swept over the Colonel. McKay grabbed for him, but there seemed to be some kind of force field around his friend, and he couldn’t touch him. Everyone stared in horror and curiosity. After a long minute, the light went out.

 

Rodney stared at the slab. There was _someone_ there, but…. The body on the slab sat up and shook his head.  Drowning in a uniform much too large for him was a tousle-haired, hazel-eyed, seven-year-old … John Sheppard.

 

Someone breathed, “Shit.” Mostly there was silence. The boy looked around and said hesitantly, “Uh, hi?”

 

Rodney stepped forward. “John? How do you feel?”

 

“I don’t … am I John? Who are you?”

 

At this point Rodney swore. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit.” The boy giggled.

 

One of the scientists said, “Isn’t he cute?” Rodney didn’t bother scowling at her. He stared at … John. Not, just now, the military leader of Atlantis.

 

“Listen, your name is John, John Sheppard, and I’m Rodney McKay. We’re friends.”

 

John smiled. “Okay.” He held out his hand for Rodney to help him down from the slab. Rodney took the boy’s hand, and John slid down to the floor, where his uniform promptly collapsed around him.

 

There were giggles, not just from the women. Rodney took charge.  He pointed to the Marines. “You! Clear the corridors from here to the infirmary. And when I say ‘clear’, I want _no one_ watching! Got that?”

 

The Marines hurried to their feet, and he went on, “And all of you! Keep your mouths shut! This is classified! If this gets out on the Atlantis grapevine, I know exactly who to send to McMurdo. Which is in Antarctica, in case you didn’t know! Go!”

 

The scientists promptly decided to go with the Marines. It seemed safer. When they left (leaving the detritus of their picnic behind), Rodney squatted in front of John, who looked confused.

 

“Listen, John, you’d better take off your pants and your shoes. Just leave your underwear on—you can hold it up, right?”

 

John said softly, “Why were you yelling? Am I in trouble?”

 

“No, no, of course not!” Rodney hastily reassured him. “I’m not yelling at you, am I? Those were stupid people. I would never yell at you. We’re friends!” He tried for a reassuring smile.

 

It must have worked, because John nodded, and sat down on the floor to take off his pants.

 

“Okay, we’re going to see Carson, um, he’s a friend of ours. He’ll take good care of you, and, and, I’ll take care of everything else. Genius here!” Rodney babbled. He talked a good game, but at the moment he didn’t feel confident at all, facing that wide-eyed hazel stare. But John solemnly nodded, as if he implicitly believed everything Rodney said.

 

Well, Rodney told himself, he _would_ fix it. It was the only option.

 

Upon examination, Carson pronounced John a healthy seven-to-eight year old boy with severe selective retrograde amnesia. He knew how to tie his shoelaces and use the Atlantean toilet, and he apparently had no trouble forming new memories. But all his memories of people and places had been wiped clean. When asked if he remembered his brother Dave, he scrunched up his face and thought about it very hard, but finally sadly shook his head. Carson had a few things to say about the Ancients, none of them repeatable in the presence of a seven-year-old.

 

Meanwhile, Teyla and Lorne made an emergency trip to the mainland to borrow some Athosian children’s clothing for John.

 

The next two weeks were sheer delight for a curious young boy to whom everything was new and wonderful and who had, moreover, a fully-charged ATA gene. Teyla and Ronon went on fulltime John-sitting duty, supplemented by everyone else in the city. Rodney devoted himself to figuring out the wretched machine, and how to get it to give back the years it had stolen.  Teyla insisted—and, in truth, she didn’t have to insist very hard—that Rodney join them for “family” meals. Everyone in Atlantis wanted to spend time with John, but his team was very protective of him. That Rodney would “fix it” was a given. No one discussed any possible alternative.

 

With time out only for meals, and a few hours of sleep each night, Rodney worked on the machine for the next week and a half. Radek took over Rodney’s duties as CSO without comment. But before the first week was out, Rodney knew the truth. De-aging only went one way. He kept trying, because what else could he do? But his heart wasn’t in it.

 

And really, he thought, was it so bad?  He knew something of John’s childhood: lonely, rejected, the poor little rich boy who never fit in, never was accepted for himself. _This_ John was friendly, enthusiastic, accepted by everyone with good will. He laughed loudly and often. Rodney knew that Lorne had taken John up in the Puddlejumpers, and he didn’t ask, but he fully believed that John had cajoled Lorne in letting him fly, at least for a little while. Young John was just as loaded with charm as his adult version, but he wasn’t jaded, and he used it in all innocence.

 

Atlantis was perfect for John, and John was a delight in Atlantis. Everyone loved having him there. But, of course, he couldn’t stay. Rodney made plans.

 

Sheppard and McKay had given each other their powers of attorney and medical proxies. Rodney bullied the SGC into making his sister Jeanne John’s legal guardian. After all, she had already been read into the program. He emphasized that he was not giving up; this was strictly in case anything happened to him before he could complete his research. Jeannie, of course, was happy to help. Then he gave her his power of attorney and medical proxy. He didn’t tell her about that. She was happy to help, right?

 

Rodney couldn’t age John. The mature thing to do would be to take him back to Earth and raise him himself. He thought about this very seriously. He could continue his research, get his Nobel, and raise John right this time, to feel loved and be happy. But. Much as he deplored Jeannie’s career choice, he freely admitted that she was a good mother. He didn’t know if he would be a good—even decent—father. He didn’t know how to talk to children. And therein lay the rub. He couldn’t stand the thought of growing old while John was still young, of them never again being able to share their thoughts, jokes, adventures, likes and dislikes of everything under the sun. They belonged _together_. And John needed to know that he would always have a friend, someone who always would be there for him. So.

 

He left a note on his computer, under a password he knew Radek knew.  He left separate notes for Teyla and Ronan. He thought that they, if anyone, would understand. _Never leave a man behind._ Then he went down to the machine room.

 

A Marine was stationed outside the door, as per his own orders. Three days ago he had given orders that _no one_ was to enter. Rodney nodded to him and said, “Look, uh, Flanigan, I need to look at the machine. Don’t let anyone else in.”

 

Sgt. Flanigan protested, “But sir—”

 

Rodney overrode him. “I’m just going to take notes.” He held up the tablet he had brought along as protective coloration. “I’ve almost figured out how to reverse the effects on Colonel Sheppard.” It had been two weeks, and he had long ago determined that the machine only worked one way. _Fucking Ancients_! He added the final lie, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to touch anything.

 

“Now I don’t want someone looking over my shoulder, but if it makes you feel better, you can come in in, oh, 20 minutes and make sure I’m all right. Okay?”

 

Flanigan reluctantly nodded, and Rodney stepped inside. He spent one solid minute putting aside regrets and misgivings. It was with a wrench that he let go of the Nobel Prize he would never win, now. But this was more important. _John_ was more important.

It was a big—gigantic—step he was undertaking. But he had no doubt that it was the right one. Then he stepped forward and activated the machine.

 

Twenty minutes later, on schedule, Sgt. Flanigan opened the door. Staring at him was a little boy with fair hair and wide blue eyes.

 

“Hello,” the boy said. “Who are you?”

 

 

END

 


End file.
